


tell me (all the ways to love you)

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Coronavirus, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Only One Bed, Pining, Quarantine, Slow Burn, Slow burn but tbh not that slow lmfao, omg and there was only one bed!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Avengers compound has gone under quarantine to curb the spread of the coronavirus. Steve and Bucky have been paired together in the team's mandatory buddy system. There's one problem, though: the room they share only has one bed, and they're both trying to hide the crushes they have for each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 43
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> quarantine boredom has been driving me crazy, so what else was there to do but make a quarantine avengers fic? it's the perfect opportunity for a *gasp* only one bed situation!
> 
> apologies if this wasn't the best, i promise it'll get less shitty!

“We’re  _ what? _ ”

Bucky practically hissed the words, annoyance seeping from the tone of his voice and his twitchy hands. 

Tony’s eyes scanned the room, looking at the semi-circle of his friends, focusing on the first who interrupted. Of  _ course  _ it was Bucky. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Under quarantine.” He continued. “This virus is getting progressively worse, and although  _ some  _ of you would be completely immune,” he swung his finger between Steve and Bucky, “we all must do our part to try and curb the spread. All of us are otherwise healthy, but we can still spread it to others who are susceptible.” He let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Unless something serious goes wrong, we’re all under quarantine. We will not be allowed to leave the compound.”

Nearly all of them groaned at once. Tony grinned and laughed as he shook his head in agreement. He droned on about a buddy system, something about being able to “keep an eye on your designated person”, looking out for each other or whatnot. He distributed hand sanitizers, assigned rooms, and drilled “wash your hands!” into them, as if they were Morgan when Tony was potty training her. 

Bucky’s buddy was Steve. Which wasn’t a problem, he’d spent his whole damn life keeping an eye on the punk and making sure he wasn’t getting sick. No, the problem was the fact that they had to share a room. With only one bed. 

Granted, it was a large bed; Stark wasn’t exactly cheap when it came to luxuries. King size, with the softest sheets Bucky had ever felt. They could sleep comfortably on either side of the mattress and never have to touch each other once. But the fact that they were sleeping  _ together _ , in  _ one bed,  _ was enough to make his cheeks burn. It only gave him more room for his eyes to linger; for his thoughts to wander off to places he knew he’d get lost in. 

Bucky would be damned if he ever let his little crush slip. He’d only had it since the 30s, if he could go that long without an incident, he could live through quarantine with Steve and one bed.

Could he?

As everyone began to scatter (after taking their buddy and hand sanitizer), Steve smirked across the room at Bucky. The gesture nearly made Bucky’s knees weak.

Steve hadn’t shared a room like this since he and Bucky were kids. Making pillow forts in the apartment, staying up late telling ghost stories and watching the lights twinkle in Manhattan from his bedroom window. Circumstances were a bit different now, though; instead of a boyhood sleepover it was a god damn  _ virus _ . 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being.” Steve elbowed him playfully, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Going to be like when we were ten, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and started to work his way toward the elevator, so he could try and get used to his living arrangements for the time being. “Just like when we were ten,” he started, sauvely clicking his tongue, making it seem like he wasn’t screaming inside. “Except I won’t have to worry about you dyin’ in your sleep.” He pressed his thumb to the  _ up  _ button, the clear plastic glowing orange as he lifted his finger. Steve stood beside him, shaking his head. “I guess we can stay up late without fear of our mothers catching us, huh?”

The elevator  _ dinged  _ and the silver doors parted, giving way to the glass and white marble interior. Bucky stepped in first before Steve followed. “We can eat whatever we want, too.” He snaked his eyes to him and tried not to let them wander. Steve groaned in content. 

“God, we can eat as many candy bars as we feel like,” the doors closed, the elevator beginning to ascend, “gonna get sick off of Baby Ruth’s.” 

Bucky could practically  _ taste  _ it. Baby Ruth’s, the crinkled, long-discarded red and white paper packaging laying on the bedroom floor. The chocolate melting in their fingers, nougat and caramel sticking to the roof of their mouths. “We don’t have our old radio,” he noted, smiling at the nostalgia, “it won’t be the same without sitting under it as your Ma cooked dinner.”

The doors opened, and they both walked out in unison. After walking down the hallway and turning to their right, the door to their room for the next uncertain-amount-of-time was opened. 

The room was homey, comfortable; a chestnut dresser on the far wall, a window dressed with white curtains on the opposite side, sunlight drenching through the fabric and blanketing the bed in muted yellow.

The  _ bed _ . Singular. Steve half laughed as he made his way into the room, sitting on the end of the mattress. “Man, it’ll really be like when we were kids.”

Bucky’s cheeks continued to progress in reddening and were now a deep shade of cranberry.  _ Yeah _ , he wanted to say,  _ except now we’re grown, and I can’t exactly hide my feelings as easily.  _

Damn it. He was so fucked. Royally fucked. 

Bucky closed the door, letting it click shut behind him as he parted the drapes to the window. “At least the view’s not half bad,” he folded his arms across his chest, “we can watch the grass grow.”

Steve laughed, and the sound made Bucky’s chest warm. He swung his legs over the side of the bed to join him by the window. “Oh yeah.” He turned his head to Bucky for a second, a knowing smile that Bucky loved so much tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ll set up a viewing area and everything. Get some chairs. Watch the sunrise and the sunset.” He sat back on the edge of the bed. Bucky’s eyes followed him. 

“Going to annoy me?” Bucky asked, returning Steve’s smile with a smirk of his own. “Gonna wake me up at 5:30 to watch the damn sun come up?” He teased.

Steve leaned back on the bed, hands behind him. “Oh, I’m going to annoy the  _ hell  _ out of you.” He said. “You’re going to hate me by the time this quarantine is lifted.” 

Bucky laughed and tilted his head back, wanting to answer with  _ I could never. _

Later that night, as they laid on opposite sides of the mattress, Bucky tried to focus on something, anything, that wasn’t the burning crush he had on the friend he was sharing a bed with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the response for this little fic!! i'm so glad so many of you are enjoying it :) i hope you enjoy this chapter!! thank you for reading, let me know what you think :>

Steve was startled at the fact that he woke up  _ after  _ the sun came up. It was even more jarring to wake up with Bucky beside him, curled up on his side, back facing Steve.

Oh, yeah. Quarantine.

Steve thought, for a half second, that maybe something had happened the night before. Perhaps an incident with Thor’s too-strong Asgardian mead that caused him to wake up slightly disheveled beside Bucky in bed. But then he remembered.

Steve tried to play off their state of affairs by poking fun at their situation, trying to keep it light and high-spirited. He wanted to guise his fear of being outed. Their “one room, one bed” conditions weren't exactly helping.

Well, “one room” wasn’t exactly accurate, actually. It had one  _ bedroom,  _ yes, but it was more like a suite. It had its own kitchen with all the comfortable amenities needed to cook a well-rounded meal, as well as a spacious bathroom with an even more spacious shower that Steve knew he’d take way too long in. It was far nicer than their cramped apartment in Brooklyn. 

But still. One room. One bed. A thousand different outcomes in the ways Steve could slip. He was used to having his own privacy, for his own fantasies; a space where he could relieve the tension without having to worry about if Bucky could see. But this? Bucky was bound to notice  _ something _ , and the thought alone was terrifying. Steve didn’t want to lose him, to push him away with his own imaginary world where instead of being the best friends they always were, they were something  _ more _ . One where, instead of being alarmed at the fact he woke up with Bucky, he was relieved, and he could lean over and brush his hand over the soft skin of Bucky’s cheek. 

Steve had internalized the fear through years of bullying from the older and bigger boys, the ones who picked on him for being “queer”, before Steve even knew what that word meant. Before he even realized he  _ was  _ that word. Even after he woke up seventy years after the war ended and he happily found out that the world had since become much warmer toward gay people, the feeling of being “dirty” never left him. It took a while for him to even say it out loud to himself, and even longer to admit it to a close circle of a few friends. 

Bucky still didn’t know. He always planned on telling him, but the thought of confronting the one person who made his chest light and his heart flutter against his ribs made his knees tremble. Steve didn’t think he could handle the rejection; it would tear him up.

Though, he did always notice tiny little tendencies that Bucky might  _ also  _ be gay. His eyes were inclined to wander around handsome men, he was always touchy if someone yelled  _ “faggot!”  _ at Steve, and he never really paid much attention to girls unless the situation called for it. In fact, Bucky avoided them altogether if he could. He was friendly with them, of course, and popular because of his good looks, but he always seemed distant with them. Steve always figured he was grasping at straws, making something up that wasn’t there. But it was hope enough for him.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bringing his hands up to his face to rub his eyes, getting rid of his leftover tiredness. He stood, slowly, making his way to the window and pushing open a sliver of the curtains, just enough to see outside. He blinked at the brightness, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the lawn below their room.

Bucky stirred from a few feet away, and Steve shut the drapes hastily, craning his head around to make sure he was still sleeping.  _ Thank god,  _ Steve thought to himself,  _ I didn’t wake him. _

In his subconscious movement, a lock of his hair fell onto his forehead and perched itself right above his brow. Steve had to use all the self control he had in him to keep from tucking it back behind his ear.

Ever since Bucky cut his hair from the long, Winter Soldier-esque length it was, Steve couldn’t help but catch himself staring for far too long. He looked like the Bucky he grew up with, the same one who made him ride the Cyclone and drink sips of scotch that his uncle got him for his 18th birthday. It made him look like  _ Bucky _ , and not the brainwashed Hydra operative. Made him look like  _ his  _ Bucky. Steve’s Bucky.

Steve moved his eyes over his face for longer than he should have before snatching them back, making his way to the dresser and opening up the drawer with his clothes. He was halfway finished pulling out a t-shirt and jeans before Bucky spoke behind him.

“You’re up late,” His voice was groggy and sleep-laced, slightly lower than what it normally was. Drove Steve crazy. He sat up and leaned on his arm, pushing the comforter off of his chest and letting it pool in his lap.

Steve turned to face him, chuckling, holding the grey shirt mindlessly in his hand. “So are you.” He retorted. Bucky chuckled. 

“Feels nice. Don’t know the last time I slept in.” He sighed, sitting up properly and blinking at the sun that was shining through the curtains that Steve didn’t close all the way. 

Steve turned back around and closed the drawer. “Me neither.” He said, leaning on the dresser and grinning across the room at Bucky.

The last time Steve slept in— _ truly  _ slept in, past 7:30am—was one week after he was woken from the ice. Between SHIELD running tests on him and trying to catch him up and assimilate him into a new goddamned  _ time period _ , he was rendered exhausted. After his apartment was set up, he went to bed and didn’t wake up until nearly 10. 

Sleep was a bit more complicated for Bucky, as he spent much of 75 years in phases of involuntary slumber. The last time he slept in, and really  _ wanted  _ to, was when he escaped Hydra’s grasp and finally had autonomy over himself; after he’d been in Bucharest for nearly two weeks, he finally felt something he hadn’t experienced since before his fall: a well rested night. 

Bucky groaned and threw himself back down onto the bed dramatically, resting an arm over his forehead. “How are we going to entertain ourselves during this ‘until further notice’ lockdown?”

The surge of unholy thoughts that raced through Steve’s head were enough to make him want to stand in an icy shower. “I, erm, I don’t know,” he cleared his throat halfway through the sentence, “we could watch movies, or something. Play board games. I can ask Tony if he can bring us a record player.” 

Bucky lowered his arm so he could peer at him. “Record player, huh?” He started. “Gonna play some Billie Holiday? Annoy our room neighbors?”

Steve laughed at the thought of Nat and Clint filing a formal complaint for ‘out of date music’. “Just a thought!” He defended. “I could always try to make some of my Ma’s old dishes. I have a few recipes.”

“Now  _ that’s  _ an idea. Do you have her old pancake recipe?  _ God  _ that woman could make some stellar breakfast.”

Steve pushed himself off of the dresser, shaking his head and laughing quietly. “Coming right up.”

He was grateful that the kitchen was separate from the bedroom. It gave Steve enough time to hide the heat in his cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Both Steve and Bucky were finding that quarantine was only fun for the first five days. After that, it was practically  _ torture _ . The boredom grabbed hold of both of them, locking its claws into them and making them positively miserable. 

They’d played a great deal of games. Sat at the window and played I spy for a few hours before raiding the closets for board games. Monopoly proved to be fun for a few hours, until they both grew so frustrated they nearly burned the board. Bucky had to use all of his self control to not throw one of the little plastic houses at Steve’s head.

They launched themselves into a War tournament with an old deck of cards that was more competitive than they thought it would be. At one point, they found themselves at the predicament of  _ double  _ war, and when Steve lost two aces and a king, he had to step away to compose himself. 

Yes, quarantine was very,  _ very _ boring, which meant that they both were kept to their thoughts a lot of the time. Which proved to be a dangerous mix. Bucky accidentally almost confessed three times, slipping, but thankfully catching himself. Each blunder made his chest tighten with nervousness. Made him wonder when he’d slip and wouldn’t break the fall in time. 

Steve, on the other hand, was managing the secret relatively well. Sure, he had his moments where he caught himself staring for too long, but he was fine most of the time. 

Most of the time.

Now was one of those times. He found himself glancing at Bucky’s morning features once he awoke; his unruly hair and gravelly, sleep-laced, first-thing-in-the-morning deep voice. He had to take a shower. Just to remove himself from Bucky’s sight.

The water ran over him, beading at his shoulders before dripping off and landing on the white linoleum of the bathtub, his hair dampening and sticking to his forehead. He reached his hands up to his face and whisked the water out of his eyes.

Bucky was readying breakfast, like he typically did. It was unspoken at this point: Bucky was to handle breakfast, Steve dinner, and they switched with lunch (if they didn’t have something quick, like a sandwich or cereal). He tapped an egg on the side of the frying pan, pushing his thumb into the crack and letting the yolk spill into the pan. It sizzled upon its landing, steam rising as he grabbed the spatula to scramble it.

_ Steve’s been in the shower for a while,  _ he thought to himself, briefly,  _ wonder what he’s doing. _

The implication made his face hotter than the stove. The thought of Steve doing  _ that _ , while Bucky was merely a room away… he shifted uncomfortably in his place, trying to get rid of the thought so he wouldn’t have to deal with a hard-on while making breakfast. It was to no avail, of course. 

_ Wonder what he thinks about,  _ he continued, mindlessly scrambling the egg.  _ Wonder if he ever thinks about me. _

God, the thought alone could get Bucky off for the next century. Deep down he knew Steve wasn’t thinking of him, but he couldn’t help but fantasize. Steve, standing in the shower, rose-colored lips whispering  _ Bucky  _ under his breath, knees trembling. 

Bucky himself nearly doubled over. He shook his head, focusing back on the eggs that were starting to burn. 

How the hell was he supposed to look Steve in the face after  _ that  _ train of thought?

Steve turned off the shower, pulling the curtains open and grabbing the towel that was hanging on the rack. He stepped out, water dripping on the bathroom tile, his hands moving the towel over himself, to his face and hair last, wringing it dry. 

Bucky wasn’t too far off as to what he was thinking about. After fighting it for a while, he couldn’t help but digress into his own private fantasies. 

Bucky. It was all Bucky. Bucky in the morning, when he was just as radiant as the sunrise. Bucky at night, when Steve swore he saw slivers of moonlight in his eyes.

The thought of Bucky under him, wrapped around him, fingers pulling at his hair. Steve’s hands slipping themselves over his skin, pulling him closer.

He relished in the thought for as long as he could, panting  _ Bucky  _ over and over, quietly, so as to not raise any suspicions. Once his fantasy was over, whisked down the drain for no one but him to know, he washed up as usual, and tried to ignore what happened so he could be normal with Bucky when he left the bathroom. 

Unbeknownst to each other, they were both experiencing the same predicament. 

Bucky jumped at the sound of the bathroom door opening, having just plated the eggs and bacon he was working on. “Breakfast is done!” He called.

Steve groaned at the aroma, hands holding onto the towel that was slung around his waist. “Be out in a second!” He answered. Bucky’s voice was still groggy with sleep, and it made him weak all over again. He rushed with getting dressed, trying to snuff out the thoughts again.

Steve made his way to the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed, but still slightly damp. His shirt clung to him, and his hair was still flat and piecey because of the water. “Smells fantastic, Buck,” he sat down at one of the plates, taking a sip of the orange juice that was beside it.

Bucky did the same, sitting down in the opposite chair and grinning at him. He tried to maintain the normalcy that they had, as if he hadn’t thought about Steve jerking off to the thought of him a few minutes earlier.

As if Steve wasn’t actually jerking off to the thought of him a few minutes earlier.

“Was craving it yesterday,” he said, grabbing a piece of bacon. “Figured you’d like it. We needed to drink the orange juice that was in the fridge anyway.”

Steve nodded, halfway finished his eggs already. “What’s on the agenda for today, hm?” He asked, smirking, already damn well knowing the answer. He just liked to tease Bucky with their collective boredom. Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“A whole lot of nothing.” He retorted. “We can continue our game.” He said, referring to their game of War with a cheeky grin. 

Steve narrowed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not sure I’m emotionally ready for that,” he laughed. “But we can try. I’m still gonna beat your ass, Bucky.”

Bucky laughed and tilted his head back. “We’ll see about that, I still have those aces you so graciously bestowed upon me.” He jabbed at him, kicking him playfully under the table. Steve painfully groaned.

“God, don’t remind me!”

Bucky lingered on Steve’s smile before looking away, the thoughts all rushing back to him. He knew he’d have to take a shower later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this chapter is so short and shitty but quarantine anxiety is kicking my ass please forgive me lmfaooo
> 
> anyways wash ur hands and stay the FUCK inside

As time progressed, their boredom only got worse. It got so bad, Steve was half tempted to stare out the window and count the blades of grass. Anything beat the monotony of doing nearly the same thing  _ every damn day. _ Wake up, eat breakfast, lounge around, turn the TV on. Repeat. Sometimes they played games, sometimes they’d reminisce about when they were teenagers; Steve getting his ass handed to him by kids a foot taller than him, Bucky stepping in every time. 

Or the times Steve would get the flu, and Bucky would be up all night, sick with worry about whether or not he’d live until morning. Suffice to say, Bucky was grateful Steve wasn’t immunocompromised during this whole fiasco, and he didn’t have to worry about  _ that _ . 

They found that if they were quiet, really quiet, they could sometimes hear what the others were doing in their respective rooms. Muffled conversations, heavy footsteps. The occasional music from Peter’s direction. It was like people watching, just minus the watching. 

The boredom became so bad, they nearly cried when Tony dropped off a box of movies and a note that was scribbled with, “Found some old movies while rummaging through storage. Figured you two would like them.” They found films they’d watched while they were teenagers;  _ Gone With the Wind, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Casablanca, The Wizard of Oz, Fantasia,  _ among many, many others. It was practically a time capsule, a treasure trove of their past. They were more than happy to receive a little bit of nostalgia.

They quickly began to revolve their day around their movie of choice that night, because what  _ else  _ was there to do? Every moment of the day led up to after dinner, where they’d, almost ceremoniously, sit down together and watch a movie of their choosing. It gave them something to look forward to that wasn’t the same dinner-shower-bed.

Today was no different.

“Is that popcorn done yet?” Steve yelled to the kitchen from the couch, ready to hit  _ play  _ on the remote. Bucky was just extending his hand to the microwave door as the numbers descended.

“It is now!” He answered, half burning his fingers on the bag. He braved through the scalding kernels and melted butter as he delivered it to the couch, dropping down and almost spilling the contents into their laps. “Always rushin’ me.”

Steve rolled his eyes and a grainy, sepia-toned Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer logo drifted onto the screen. It looked odd with the current technology it was projected on; an unusual dichotomy that blended past and present. Steve and Bucky were used to seeing movies like this in now-vintage theaters with red velvet curtains for a quarter. Lots had changed, but then again, lots hadn’t.

Like the fact that it was dark, and Steve could steal looks at Bucky without suspicion. Except it was only them, and there was nothing stopping Steve from pulling Bucky’s face toward him for a kiss. No one there to beat the shit out of him after. No, it wasn’t 1940s Brooklyn, it was present day quarantine, and it was just  _ them.  _ Steve didn’t know which was worse. He had to focus on the movie if he had any chance of making it through without tripping.

But God, how could he? The way the illumination from the movie highlighted Bucky’s dark hair, contoured his face in shadows and highlighted the bridge of his nose. It made him look like a Grecian sculpture, delicately crafted out of the finest marble, not a flaw in sight. 

He snapped his eyes back to the movie before he completely lost it. He was venturing down the rabbit hole, and he nearly got to the point of no return. 

Bucky mindlessly offered the popcorn bag to Steve, a handful of kernels in his hand that he was slowly eating, eyes glued ahead of him. He was completely oblivious to Steve’s turmoil beside him, blissfully unaware of the debate in his head. All Bucky cared about at the moment was that he was getting a break from the reality of quarantine, even if it was only for an hour or two.

Meanwhile, Steve was stuck inside his head. Drifting in between actually paying attention to the movie and wondering what Bucky’s lips felt like, like he was a fifteen year old teenager again. It was becoming  _ unbearable _ .

Steve flicked his eyes to Bucky again, and in one quick move, hand on his cheek, leaned in, lips firm against his.

Fuck it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, I’m really sorry the last few have been super shitty. This quarantine has kicked my ass and my mental health has really deteriorated, and I really just wanted to conclude it. I hope you understand and enjoyed it anyways! Thank you so much for taking the time to read it :)

Steve was kissing him. Steve was kissing  _ him. _

Holy  _ shit.  _

How did this happen? Did they say something or do something that Bucky had just blacked out in his mind? No, no. That couldn’t be. They were watching a damn movie, it was quiet. It was quiet, and Steve took his cheeks in his hands and now they were kissing. And Bucky kissed him back.

He tilted his head into Steve’s palms, his own letting go of the popcorn bowl in his lap. They settled down on Steve’s neck, fingers drifting up toward dirty blonde hair. 

Steve pulled away after a few moments, sucking in a deep breath and trying to catch up with his heartbeat. His eyes opened halfway, only a few inches away from Bucky. “Sorry,” he apologized breathlessly, dropping his hands to Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky took a second to flicker his eyes over Steve’s face, mouth turning up into a barely-there grin. He leaned back in, kissing him again, his weight pushing Steve down on the couch. 

This  _ couldn’t _ be real. There was no possible way that Bucky was kissing Steve, holding him in his hands, slowly inching downward until his back hit the cushions.  _ And Steve was kissing back! _

“Hold on, hold on,” Bucky said as he pulled away, half out of breath, “what are we doing?”

Steve looked like a fawn in headlights. Cheeks all flushed and red, lips pink. He looked like a goddamned dream to Bucky. He moved himself up a tad. “I-I don’t know, I,” he stuttered, trying to find the right words. 

“How long have you wanted to kiss me?” Bucky cut him off. Steve was nearly trembling at this point.

“A long time.”

Bucky tried to keep his cool.  _ A long time? _ It couldn’t have been longer than him. Surely. “How long?”

Steve shifted in his place, uncomfortably. He diverted his eyes downward. “Since we were teenagers.”

Fuck. He’d been wanting, longing, to kiss this fucking idiot as long as Steve had wanted to kiss  _ him _ . “God damn.”

Steve flicked his eyes back up to him. “What?” He inquired, heart racing in his chest. He’d just gotten back from the high of kissing Bucky, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about his reaction. Bucky shook his head in reply.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you, well,  _ have _ you, since we were sixteen, Steve.” He looked down at the ground for a second, all the memories of stolen glances and broken hearted Brooklyn nights flooding back for a brief moment. “I was just too afraid of doing anything about it.”

Steve just stared at Bucky for a second. He wanted to live in that moment forever, this second in time between Bucky’s last words and the thing Steve was going to stay next. It was peaceful, quiet; his eyes were on him, and his lips still had Bucky’s lingering taste. “So was I.”

They turned to one another now, and for once in their lives, the stare wasn’t fleeting, and they didn’t look away after too long.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! Please check out my latest stucky fic ‘icarus and the sun’ by going to my page or pasting this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639258/chapters/62241718
> 
> wash your hands!! practice social distancing!! be safe!!
> 
> follow me on tumblr! @galactichan


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